


And in the end...

by Ariana (ariana_paris)



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariana_paris/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: Gilfoyle pauses a moment, almost like a hesitation. “There is one thing you’ve wanted since the beginning that you can have if you want.”
Relationships: Dinesh Chugtai/Bertram Gilfoyle
Comments: 28
Kudos: 145





	And in the end...

**Author's Note:**

> And in the end  
> The love you take  
> Is equal to the love you make  
> \-- The Beatles: The End

“I guess I’ll start on those travel plans before we finalize the liquidation this afternoon,” says Richard, rising wearily from the bench.

“I’ll help you!” says Jared immediately. “I have a globe in my office we can use.”

As they head toward the rooftop exit, Monica glances at Gilfoyle in his chair and Dinesh beside her.

“What are you guys going to do today?”

“I’m going to finish off this box of Tres Comas,” says Gilfoyle, who is already starting on his second bottle. 

“I guess I’ll stay here and watch him pass out in his own vomit,” says Dinesh gloomily. “After that, I don’t know. Look for a new job, I guess. Maybe not teaching.” He looks at Monica. “You?”

Monica smiles confidently. “Well, technically, as a non-techie, nobody can blame me for what happened. As the former CFO of Pied Piper and partner at Bream-Hall, I think I should have a new job in no time. I guess I’d better start embellishing that resume and hitting my network. You guys should do the same. At the end of the day, people will remember Richard but won’t remember either of you.” She stands up. “I’ll let you know if I hear of any good CTO or Chief Architect positions.”

“Yeah, thanks, Monica,” says Dinesh.

Gilfoyle just belches and watches Monica walk past his chair. When she’s gone, he moves into her place on the couch, beside Dinesh.

“Hmm,” he comments. “Monica has a hot ass.”

Dinesh rolls his eyes. “Well, maybe you can date her now you’re not going to be working together.”

“No, I mean the seat is hot where she was sitting,” says Gilfoyle.

He sounds like his usual self, enunciating clearly in his deadpan voice, but Dinesh thinks he’s probably getting very drunk. He changes the subject.

“God. Six years and nothing to fucking show for it,” he moans.

“Most software projects have a lifespan of about a year,” says Gilfoyle blandly. “Six months in, they’re already a mess. Think of all the bugs and tech debt we accumulated when we did the Russfest project. We don’t have to deal with that anymore. That and the world-ending AI we accidentally built.”

Dinesh just grunts. “It would have been nice to just enjoy the launch and then maybe fail _after_ that. Now I’m forever going to be the VP of Engineering who oversaw the creation of one of the most monumental flops in the history of Silicon Valley!”

“Monica is right, Nobody is going to remember you. All the coverage is about Richard.”

“Thanks for the great pep talk, Gilfoyle.” Dinesh glares at him. “So great to know I’ll be okay because I’m such a fucking nobody.”

There’s a long pause before Gilfoyle speaks again.

“You saved the world, Dinesh. That’s pretty—” He pauses as if about to say something really distasteful. “—good.”

Dinesh snorts. Gilfoyle must really be drunk. “Yeah. I saved the world and nobody fucking knows about it.”

“I do,” says Gilfoyle softly.

Dinesh is too fucking weirded out by Gilfoyle being nice to him to properly engage with that. He goes back to the thing that’s bothering him.

“I never get what I want,” he whines. “I wanted to go to Hawaii and I got a fucking rash and had to stay indoors all the time. I wanted to be recognized for my engineering skills and now I have to pretend I was part of a team that fucked up so bad they brought our whole company down. I wanted to be famous and now I have to be grateful that nobody will remember my fucking name this time next week. I wanted to be a golden millionaire, but instead, I’ll be lucky if I get even two or three hundred grand a year working as a CTO for some other tech company in this town.”

“The average wage in Pakistan is about 1500 dollars a year,” says Gilfoyle, like that’s relevant. He takes another swig of tequila. “And to be fair, the golden millionaire thing was kind of a big ask when you’re pushing forty.”

Gilfoyle sounds more like himself and that makes Dinesh feel a bit better. But he’s enjoying his pity party too much to let it go now.

“Everything I wanted since the beginning. Be rich and famous and respected before I turn forty. And I can’t have any of it.”

Gilfoyle pauses a moment, almost like a hesitation. “There is one thing you’ve wanted since the beginning that you can have if you want.”

“Oh yeah?” prompts Dinesh with resignation.

He’s steeling himself for one of Gilfoyle’s put downs. But then he freezes in surprise and panic, his heart doing strange somersaults somewhere down in his stomach and his cheek burning with the touch of Gilfoyle’s whiskered lips.

He stays perfectly still, sure that terrible things will happen if he acknowledges what Gilfoyle just did. The second it’s over, he’s not sure it even happened. The sun is still shining; the billboard over the road is bare; his untouched cup of Tres Comas is still full in his hand. Maybe he’s getting drunk off the fumes of Gilfoyle’s tequila-laden breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gilfoyle looking perfectly normal with his long brown hair and thick glasses and bushy beard. Then Gilfoyle tilts his head to one side and leans in, his familiar face becoming blurrier as it moves so close that Dinesh can taste the tequila even before Gilfoyle’s lips touch his in a quick dry kiss.

Gilfoyle straightens up, his unsettling stare boring right into the deepest, most repressed recesses of Dinesh’s soul, trampling the last shreds of his poor battered ego.

“Fu-uck,” lets out Dinesh on a shaky breath.

He’s sure this has to be a joke, a last, terrible prank before Pied Piper dies and they go their separate ways. Maybe Gilfoyle will move back to Canada and die an alcoholic, penniless and friendless. Or maybe he’ll finally move to Boston to live with his buxom Satanist girlfriend and her snake. Maybe Dinesh will—well, not move back to Pakistan, no fucking way—but maybe take a nice sensible job in Seattle or something. Either way, this might be his last chance.

He curls his fingers into that fluffy, nearly clean hair, his thumbs buried in the thick beard, and kisses Gilfoyle’s mouth as if his life depends on it. Gilfoyle seems taken aback for a moment before he responds. 

When Dinesh draws back to shift into a more convenient position, Gilfoyle’s gaze is less confident. His hair is mussed and his glasses slightly askew and Dinesh feels an overwhelming desire to tear away that carefully nurtured personna, to elicit sighs and moans instead of gravelly insults, to see that hard gaze softened with desire, all the carapace of protection peeled away to reveal the bullied little boy who still lives inside. To coax Gilfoyle into revealing his deepest secrets the way he so diligently forced Dinesh to expose his.

With that thought in mind, Dinesh wants to say something strong and powerful, something that fits in with his big muscles and alpha potential. Something to assert his dominance.

“God, you’re so amazing,” is what comes out. And not even in a particularly manly tone, either. More like a lovelorn teenager. Shit, Gilfoyle is going to destroy him.

“I knew it,” says Gilfoyle with amusement, though he still sounds a little breathless. “You love me.”

He sounds way too smug and Dinesh is almost tempted to deny it. But Boston and Seattle beckon and he might as well be honest for once.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he admits. “Always did. Fuck my life, right?”

Gilfoyle just smiles at him, and then, weirdly, he strokes Dinesh’s hair. Well, fuck it. Dinesh straddles his lap and kisses every part of him he can touch: his thick-lipped, wide mouth; his pale high forehead; the small expanse of soft neck between his beard and the collar of his shirt. 

* * * * *

“Jesus, that escalated quickly,” says Monica in a low voice, staring at them from the other side of the terrace. 

Jared and Richard hadn’t left immediately because Richard wanted to have one last nostalgic look over the parapet at the back. Monica joined them on her way to the stairs and they ended up talking quietly about maybe going to a bar out of town to get really blind drunk, until their conversation was interrupted when Gilfoyle and Dinesh suddenly started making out.

“I always wondered, but I never thought they’d actually go there,” comments Richard. He smiles wryly. “Well, I guess it’s a good time for a new beginning.”

“So much emotion.” Jared loosens his collar. “It’s beautiful.”

Monica eyes Dinesh and Gilfoyle with amusement as they sink into a practically horizontal position. 

“C’mon, guys,” she calls out. “You can hump each other later. Let’s go celebrate the start of the rest of our lives!”


End file.
